


The Dark of the Forest

by ilcuoreardendo



Series: Another Space and Time (Star Wars fics) [33]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Forests, Gen, Jedi Knight Obi-Wan Kenobi, M/M, Padawan Anakin Skywalker, Post-Star Wars: The Phantom Menace, Sith Qui-Gon Jinn, Sith Shenanigans (Star Wars), Spooky, Walks In The Woods
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:15:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27287761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilcuoreardendo/pseuds/ilcuoreardendo
Summary: A crashed shuttlecraft. A missing padawan. A mysterious cabin in the woods.Forests were epicenters of the Living Force and this one was muted. If he hadn't seen the living trees and shrubs, the animals bedding down for the night, he'd have called it dead.And if it wasn’t the forest that was without the Force, then it was him.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Obi-Wan Kenobi
Series: Another Space and Time (Star Wars fics) [33]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/793845
Comments: 6
Kudos: 63





	The Dark of the Forest

**Author's Note:**

> I had intended to write and post this _last_ October but that didn't happen. I managed to eek out an ending a few weeks ago. Posted first at my Tumblr.

* * *

Obi-Wan cursed under his breath as he tripped over the third tree root in as many steps. His vision blurred and he blinked hard in a desperate attempt to clear it. He'd hit his head in the crash and was likely suffering a concussion. And, after stumbling through the forest for the last hour, calling for Anakin (who never answered, which meant he was out of ear shot…or incapable) he could feel his strength waning.

He pulled his robe tighter around him; it did little to keep out the bone-deep chill of the coming twilight as it settled over the forest.

Reaching out again, he looked for some glimmer of Anakin's Force signature. Again, he encountered no Anakin. And nothing else.

Forests were epicenters of the Living Force and this one was muted. If he hadn't seen the living trees and shrubs, the animals bedding down for the night, he'd have called it dead.

And if it wasn’t the forest that was without the Force, then it was him. Something was muting his connection. Perhaps his injury. But Obi-Wan had suffered similar injuries before with no blocking of his ability.

He paused as another wave of fatigue and dizziness washed over him. (Perhaps the head injury was to blame. But there was no use dwelling on it.) He needed to find shelter. Help. Some way to relay a message to Coruscant.

A fragment of light caught his eye and he paused, tilting his head to look through the spindly curved bodies of tree trunks. The light stayed steady. He walked toward it, found a cottage made of stone rising up out of the forest clearing. Craggy and aged, light shone between the slats of shutters that were pulled tight against the coming night. Beyond them would be a warm room and perhaps food, an ally, a subspace comm.

Obi-Wan knocked on the door. There was no answer, but the handle turned easily and the door swung open. Beyond it was a simple sitting room, doused in orange and red shadows from the fire in the hearth. There was a low couch and, in front of it, a table set with a platter of bread and fruits and two empty bowls no doubt meant to hold the contents of the pot that was bubbling in front of the fireplace.

Even as his vision blurred again, Obi-Wan scoffed softly at the convenience, remembering some old tale he’d heard in the crèche about a girl and an enchanted palace where all her needs were seen to by invisible servants.

But this was no storybook and he was no fair maiden. Obi-Wan needed food and rest if he was to heal himself enough to seek help, to continue his search for Anakin.

So he went inside, closing the door behind him, knelt at the little table and helped himself to the stew, the bread, the sweet fruits.

It wasn’t long before a full belly and the heat of the fire made Obi-Wan’s exhaustion more pronounced. He straightened in his seated position, breathed deep, reached out, looking for that ever shifting wave of energy, hoping to harness it to heal and shore himself up.

He felt it. Had it in his grasp.

And it slipped away, slick as a fleek eel.

At the same moment, the door latch clicked and the air in the room cooled. Obi-Wan opened his eyes to a tall, robed figure entering the cottage. He remained seated, tried to look as non-threatening as possible, while he rested his hand close to his lightsaber. If the figure meant him no ill-will, it would go far in preserving the peace. And if it did, he would have the element of surprise. 

The figure removed its cloak.

Obi-Wan stopped breathing.

His hair was longer, his skin paler, and there were a few more lines around his mouth and eyes. He had trimmed his once neat beard into a fine goatee, but the mouth was the same and so was the crooked smile, though it didn’t seem to reach his eyes. Eyes that were cast in shadow by the room but glittered in the firelight, flat and silver.

“ _Qui-Gon_.” Obi-Wan was barely aware he’d spoken or that he’d stood. 

“Obi-Wan. I felt you as soon as you made planet fall. I must have just missed you.”

“How?” 

“Some things, even death cannot destroy. Our bond is one of them.”

Obi-Wan bit back a frown. He still felt nothing. Even with Qui-Gon there, in front of him, close enough to touch.

“And the rest,” Qui-Gon said knowingly, “is a much longer story.”

“I would hear it,” Obi-Wan said, but his belly was tight and his nerves suddenly singing with the need to be outside of the cabin. He’d long tried to stop questioning these small bits of insight that his gut threw at him. “But I need to find Anakin. It’s dark and he may be injured.”

Qui-Gon smiled and again it did not reach his eyes. “He’s in good hands. He’ll be fine.”

“What?” Obi-Wan had trouble following Qui-Gon’s meaning. His vision blurred again, as much from exhaustion as from the head injury. The world tilted and he stumbled, felt Qui-Gon’s fingers curl around his bicep, the grip strong and sure and for a moment he was transported back 11 years, losing his balance coming out of a particularly difficult kata and Qui-Gon was there to catch him, steadying him with both his hand and the Force, the bond flaring to life between them.

And it flared to life now, the first of the Force Obi-Wan has felt since he woke in the crashed ship, but there was something wrong. It was not the warm, tranquil thing of his memories. It was dark and cool. It twined around him like a constrictor snake before he shoved himself away from the man who was his mentor, his master.

“You’re not Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan said, knowing it wasn’t true.

“Oh, Obi-Wan.” The sigh was wistful, a little amused, a little mocking. “Would that it were so simple. _Don’t_.”

The last word came out in a harsh rasp as Obi-Wan edged toward the door, his hand on his saber hilt. But, much as he had when he was younger, Obi-Wan ignored Qui-Gon’s warning and threw himself sideways. He wasn’t surprised when he was caught—not in the web of the Force but by hands—and physically hauled away from the door; his wrists were wrenched behind his back, his chest pressed into Qui-Gon’s. 

Qui-Gon was saying something beneath his breath, but the words were directed at the air, as if he were having a conversation with someone not in the room. _Too soon. Cannot keep him. The boy…_

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan whispered. That’s who “the boy” was. He was certain of it. He twisted in Qui-Gon’s hold, hoping to throw the taller man over his shoulder but only succeeding in pulling them bodily together. Qui-Gon took them to the ground with a swift movement of his boot hooked around Obi-Wan’s ankle, landing on top of Obi-Wan and knocking the breath out of him.

When his former master sat up, the yellow firelight reflected in his eyes. Obi-Wan saw sadness there, tempered with resolution. As Qui-Gon’s hand came to his face, Obi-Wan flailed, snatching at the man’s robes, his face, his hair until the touch of those warm fingers quieted him, stilled him against his will, left him soft, yielding, as he slid into unconsciousness, Qui-Gon’s voice in his ears. 

_Not now. But soon._

**# # #**

“ _Obi-Wan!_ ”

There were hands on his shoulders. The smell of mech oil and fresh dirt in his nose.

“Obi-Wan, wake up. _Master_!”

“Anakin?”

“Oh, fu—. I thought you were dead.”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes. Anakin’s face trembled into view above him, backlit by star shine and moonlight. His eyes were wide and there were silver tracks in the dust on his face. Anakin would, of course, never admit to tears. He was 15. He didn’t cry.

Obi-Wan tried to sit up and winced as his right wrist protested the pressure. There was an answering throb at his temple.

“Wait,” Anakin said, before sliding his arms around Obi-Wan and beneath his armpits, helping him scoot up against the side of their crashed shuttlecraft. “I came to and found you lying over there,” Anakin said, pointing to the edge of the tree line. “You went through the cockpit windscreen. Lucky for you it completely popped out with the crash,” Anakin said, “or you would have had more than just a scratch on your head.” He frowned. “I couldn’t tell you what went wrong with the shuttle.” The last was said with a heavy sigh of irritation.

Obi-Wan looked around. Anakin had set out the small emergency fusion lamps toward the edges of the crash site. They were in the middle of a copse of trees, some of them damaged from the impact. He could, if he focused, feel the forest creatures at the edges of the light. He could feel Anakin next to him, bright and warm and worried.

Had it all just been a dream?

“The Temple—“ he started.

“The comm on the shuttle was a bit banged up,” Anakin said, “but I was able to get it running long enough to send and receive. Evac in 20 standard hours.”

Letting out a sigh, Obi-Wan leaned a little heavier against the shuttle. “Then I suppose there’s nothing for it but to wait.”

Anakin nodded, with the air of one facing a grim immediate future of inaction before jumping to his feet. “We have rations in my pack. And I think there were some blankets in the storage compartment,” he said, turning and climbing into the belly of the shuttle.

Blankets sounded good. Obi-Wan pulled his robe a little tighter around him, wincing against at the shock of pain from his wrist. He pulled his sleeve back to examine the injury and stopped.

Wrapped snugly around his wrist, just beneath the pisiform bone—almost serving to stabilize what was surely a minor sprain—was a woven, brown and green, nerf hide hair band.

He’d seen this band often as a padawan: on the caff table in the common room, on the counter in the ‘fresher, on his master’s bedside table.

Obi-Wan traced the band with his thumb. He brought it close to his face, breathing in the scent of aged leather. There was no trace imprint of the one who’d worn it, physically or in the Force. But he knew to whom it had belonged.

He heard Qui-Gon’s voice in his head. The coolness of it. The strange tilt of the Force as he spoke to someone Obi-Wan couldn’t hear.

_The boy. Not now. Soon._

A chill went through him that had nothing to do with the night air.


End file.
